Red Zone: The Things We Lost
by SunRei
Summary: a.k.a. Exercises in Resuscitating Muses. After using the Legion Ring to escape the painful present Clark finds himself in a world at the mercy of the ruthless General Zod.
1. PROLOGUE, ONE

You may thank VisionGirl for challenging (read as: demanding) my muse to take action.  
>~s<p>

-  
><strong>Red Zone: The Things We Lost<strong>  
><em>a.k.a. Exercises in Resuscitating Muses<em>

**Author:** Me (sunrei a.k.a. sonia)  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>SettingContext:** Everything up to the S8 finale/ S9 premiere. This fic re-imagines some of the who-did-what and -when as referenced in Pandora.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> After using the legion ring to escape the painful present Clark finds himself in a world at the mercy of the ruthless General Zod.

***

[PROLOGUE]

***

It could have been morbid curiosity or noble intentions that had enticed him to slip the ring onto his finger. In truth, his motivations were neither questioning nor altruistic.

No, given the fact that all of his other integrity- and honor-motivated actions as of late had backfired, he had wanted to be free of the guilt and of the pressure.

Davis was dead. Jimmy was dead. His team was distrustful. His best friends were hurting.

He had watched the funeral procession from afar, knowing that he was unworthy of their forgiveness and undeserving of their comfort.

No, when he had allowed that metal band to slide over the tip of his forefinger with a half-hearted hesitation, he had simply wanted to escape.

When the world stopped flashing around him and the bright colors began to fade, he began to wonder if the decision had been too reckless.

[PART ONE]

While he waited for his eyes to adjust, Clark tried to convince himself that he wouldn't stay long. Wherever he was—whenever he was—it was not his place or time. He was only there to reassure himself that the decisions he made were right. That the means did, in fact, justify the ends.

That is what he told himself, but the deserted newsroom that he found himself in suddenly made the game change.

He was sitting at his desk at the Planet, just as he had been when he'd picked up the ring. Apparently Lois had found it during her altercation with Tess. It was mere luck that she hadn't put the ring on herself. Instead she had pocketed it and gone to meet the blur at the appointed time—a meeting that had put her in the direct destructive path of the Beast once connected to Bloom.

Clark had caught her unconscious body just before Doomsday's thrust had sent her headfirst into a brick wall. Of course, the impact of catching her had caused him to act more as a buffer than a cushion, and the Legion ring—to his surprise—had tumbled out of her jacket pocket.

Later, after all had been said, done, and buried, he had sat down at his desk in the Planet in thought—in the same position he was in now—and slid the ring into the place of no return.

Chloe had asked him to go to the past. He knew that the ring would take him, instead, to the future.

Looking around, he saw that his place of work was in ruins. The space was void of people and of things; but the lack of sound is what really made it all so strikingly *wrong*.

The smart thing to do would be to take the ring off and put it back on, negating his travels and going back to his time and place—whenever and wherever that turned out to be.

He slid the ring off of his finger… and tucked it inside the palm of his left hand as he rose to his feet.

***  
>"Why are you out of uniform?"<p>

Clark slowly turned away from his surveyance of the damaged Metropolis to face his addressor. The man was tall, dark-skinned, muscular and—by the looks of things—not too friendly. Clark took in the Kryptonian symbol on the black shirt that was half-exposed by a dark trench coat and grimaced.

These were his people.

The knowledge that he wasn't alone was not nearly as welcoming as he'd always thought it would be.

The man's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. "I asked you a question." But without waiting for an answer, he had lifted Clark a foot off of the ground with a hand wrapped around his neck.

Gagging, Clark grabbed at the man's arm, suddenly gravely aware that in this new world, a world where the sky appeared stained with blood, Clark Kent had no powers.

"Filthy human," the dark man spat, pulling Clark's dangling body closer. "How did you get into the restricted zone?"

Clark shook his head, unable to answer even though it didn't seem like his attacker cared. There was a slightly amused gleam in the man's dark eyes as his fingers tightened around Clark's windpipe.

It was that same gleam that followed him into unconsciousness.

_tbc..._


	2. TWO

A/N: Alerts are nice... Reviews are better. Enjoy! ~s

***

[PART TWO]

***

The feeling of something tickling his face was what drew Clark back to his senses. First, he brushed at it with his hand and it immediately went away. Then it was back. Hesitantly… light…

He opened one eye, realized that he was lying on a floor amongst stray strands of hay, and then opened the other eye in time to recognize where his tickling sensation had originated.

Clark pushed himself up into a seated position, taking in the dirty and frightened, yet curious, faces of two young children huddled together against a nearby wall. The oldest one, a boy around the age of six, was holding a piece of hay in his hand.

"Hello," he offered, but despite his gentleness, the two boys crouched closer together.

Frowning, Clark looked around, taking in with surprise that his surroundings were familiar. He was in the loft of his family's farm, but it looked nothing like the place he that had been his childhood, tweenhood, and adulthood haven. Instead of the comforting atmosphere he had come to know, the loft had become a prison. There were imposing men and women with weapons pacing the upper rafters. As he looked around, Clark could see other people huddled in corners and in shadows. But something else was off.

He slid over to the railing he was close to and peered down at the lower level. What he saw down there confirmed his suspicions. Most of the prisoners were children. There were two or three elderly persons, and around five or so young adults. The collection was odd. There were relatively no able-bodied 'adults' in the whole place, and the ones who were there seemed to be as meek and skittish as the children.

"Did you come to help us?"

Clark turned back to the boys—the younger one had been the one to speak. "I don't…"

"The big ones like you told us they'd come back to help us."

"We're hungry," the other boy added, playing with the hay.

The sound of a commotion coming from below pulled Clark's attention away from the two pairs of innocent eyes that were begging him for help he didn't know how to give. He grabbed onto the railing and got to his feet, running down the stairs to follow behind the Kryptonian soldier he'd seen dragging a flailing human male through the barn's doors.

"Stealing food is not acceptable! You will be punished." The Kryptonian soldier, this time a brutish looking man with dirty blond hair, tossed the prisoner against the wire of a fence that now surrounded the barn. Clark wasn't sure what was about to happen, but when the prisoner starting screaming and smoke began rising from the darkening spot on the man's chest, he threw himself at the guard.

His attention taken away from punishing the prisoner, the soldier grabbed Clark by the scruff of his neck as he bounced off the steel flesh that was the Kryptonian guard's body. Then, he sent a pulverizing punch into Clark's gut, holding fast to his neck so that the blow would not send him flying.

"I like it when they fight back," the Kryptonian sneered. "They rarely last long enough to make if fun though."

Clark could only cough up blood in response. No matter how many times he experienced it, humanity was not something he wore well. It was all he could do to turn his body to intercept the blows as they kept raining down on him. Soon he was on the ground tasting dirt without knowing how he got there.

The Kryptonian was playing with him, he knew that much, and through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut, he desperately scanned the area for a weapon… any weapon… even while knowing that nothing would work. Unwrapping one arm from around his waist, Clark felt the floorboards, searching for the poked out knothole of the plank that opened to a secret area below.

"Stop!"

Clark rolled over onto his back, bracing for the blow that didn't come. A Kryptonian female stood in a wide-legged stance a small distance behind his tormentor. Her piercing blue eyes almost seemed to glow against the backdrop of her jet black hair, and yet her expression held none of the benevolence of a person he could credit with saving him from being beaten to death. Then he noticed the tall dark man beside her—the first Kryptonian he'd encountered after taking off the ring.

The woman walked over to where he lay, pulling a short sword from the scabbard on her back. "General Zod wants to see him."

Crouching slightly, she pressed the edge of the sword against Clark's neck, forcing him to arch away from the sharp point. Then laughing, she stood. Clark sighed at the respite, thinking that the worst was over for the time being.

Then she kicked him in the head.

***  
>He could barely stand when they brought him before their leader, and ironically, he was a bit grateful when at the man's accented command to "Kneel!" someone had kicked the back of his right knee.<p>

Their general—Zod, he recalled—stood from a Luthor Mansion chair that had been purposed as a type of throne and walked over to him.

"Your pathetic resistance is futile," General Zod said; his tone full of annoyance and derision. "Your kind never learns."

Clark didn't respond. He couldn't. He couldn't wrap his mind around the presence of all of these Kryptonians. Where had they come from? And more importantly, why were they so… *mean*?

General Zod roughly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. "You don't have to die here," he said, almost genially. "Tell me about the resistance."

Hearing the word again, Clark realized with some relief that the Resistance was a reference to people. Someone was fighting back. He must have smiled with that thought because the grip on his chin tightened painfully.

"How did you get into the restricted zone? Tell me!"

"I'm not telling you anything," Clark answered, finally finding his voice. "We'll never give up."

Zod sneered at him, and through the hate displayed on his face, Clark could see that the Kryptonian leader knew what he said was true. "Then you'll die."

Unceremoniously, Clark was pushed away leaving him seated on his heels. Zod held out his left hand and what looked like a Japanese Kanata was placed there.

Morbidly fascinated by the gleam of red-tinged sunlight against the item sure to bring about his death, Clark couldn't help but turn away when the circle of soldiers parted to let someone through. The flash of red-hair that accompanied the newcomer was a shock.

"Tess?"

Zod's sword lowered from the horizontal position he'd been keeping it aloft upon hearing Clark's utterance. "You know each other?"

Tess Mercer, red-headed Luthor flunkie, was apparently one of those bottom-feeders who sold her soul to whomever looked strongest. Clark glared at her with all the might he could muster with one working eye. She must have totally joined the club. She had the dog tags of membership as well as Zod's acceptance.

"He used to work for me," she announced, ignoring Clark's death-if-he-still-had-powers-glare. "…with Lois."

That statement seemed to pique Zod's interest. He stepped toward Clark again. "Lois Lane?" he drawled, in a way that made Clark cringe. "In what capacity?" He sounded far too excited for Clark's liking, and it made Clark wonder just how Zod knew about Lois.

"He was her partner and best friend," Tess answered.

Zod seemed to almost tremble with glee at that. He turned back to Clark and patted his head fondly. "How fortuitous that your General Lane couldn't keep you hidden from me any longer."

Clark pulled his head away from the offending hand, only to make Zod step back and laugh.

"Prepare the stage," Zod announced, handing the katana to one of his soldiers as he moved to his throne. "We're going to have another public execution."

Clark watched with confusion mixed with fear as two soldiers pulled him to his feet. The general sat with his fingers steepled under his chin, smiling widely.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The ominous sound of Zod's taunting stayed with Clark as he was led down the once familiar halls of the Luthor Mansion.

_tbc..._


	3. THREE

[PART THREE] 

* * *

><p>Clark wasn't sure if it were overkill or not: the fact that the Kryptonians—no, Aliens, he decided (they couldn't be *his* people regardless of the language they spoke)—the fact that the Aliens had him chained to a wall. He was sure that they didn't know about his true identity, and for whatever reason, Tess hadn't revealed all she knew about him. He didn't understand it.<p>

Things were sufficiently bad enough in this 'future' that he was ready to go back. He didn't know when he was—still. Part of him desired to stay and find out just exactly what had gone so terribly wrong, and perhaps to stay longer to find out the extent of what went wrong… to figure out a way to thwart this hostile invasion. But the other part of him reasoned that he could do none of those things if he were dead. Things were quickly moving in the direction of him being dead.

He was powerless and he was a prisoner. And he was stuck.

Just before they had chained him, he had searched his pockets for the ring only to find it missing. For all of the times he had been unconscious this day, there were plenty of places it could be. His best hope was that one of the Aliens had it. At least that way he could get it back.

The guard at his door stepped aside to allow someone to enter and Clark flinched involuntarily. When he saw that it was Tess, he could feel his temper flaring—for all the good it did.

"Traitor!"

The soldier that had followed Tess into the room prepared to hit Clark, but Tess's raised hand stopped him. He didn't look too happy about obeying her.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Tess replied, and Clark still found her infuriating with her eerily calm temperament.

"You should be sorry that you sided against humanity!"

Tess smirked at him. "I sided with the ones who were protecting the Earth."

Clark suddenly felt like he'd seen a ghost. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn—in that moment—that Tess Mercer was born to stand in that Manor. Her obsession with doing the right things the wrong way was a Luthor characteristic. He would have told her so, but was suddenly unsure if it might be incorrectly received as a compliment.

"Why are you here?" he asked, having had enough.

Tess stepped forward and placed a hand against his cheek. "It's time."

~\s/~

He was kneeling again. This time there were cameras intermixed in the circle of soldiers that lined the room, and he suddenly recalled having seen the blank monitors near the ceiling of the prison camp. Earlier, he had overlooked them, not noticing them in the midst of the horrors everywhere else. Now it made sense. Public execution.

All Clark could think about were the two little boys. They'd said that they were hungry.

Zod was talking again—it seemed to be something he enjoyed—and Clark didn't mind, since his speeches appeared to delay the swinging of the sword. Instead of paying attention, his mind was filled with attempts at escape. Survivor's instinct was an amazing thing. He was bound, kneeling, and surrounded on all sides by the enemy, and yet he wanted to live.

Or die trying to do just that.

He decided to tune in when Zod turned back toward him, placing the katana on his shoulder.

"This is a warning," Zod was saying. "A message to those of you foolish to hide behind the pitiful rebellion led by a pathetic General…"

Clark was trying to imagine how he could disarm the man while still keeping his head attached when the ceiling caved in.

The invading army was dressed in black, from their masks to their boots, and they were wielding green-hued arrows, knives, and swords. Somewhere in the confusion, Zod had been spirited away by his lieutenants, but a long gash on the side of Clark's neck reminded him that it had almost been a moment too late.

He rolled to the side as two combatants did a deadly dance in the place where he had just been kneeling, and worked his hands around a discarded knife, cutting at the ropes that kept him bound. It was his saving grace that all of the meteor rock weapons in the room had minimal effect on him. Lacking in his natural abilities, he was also lacking in reaction.

What astounded him was that his fellow Kryptonians were also lacking in the reaction he'd been expecting. The meteor-rock infused weapons were having an effect, but it seemed to only stun or paralyze them for a while. The bullets and knives found purchase in the aliens-flesh, but not deep enough to be fatal. The rescue squad were instilling some injuries—while taking some of their own—but their edge was slowly diminishing as some of the first contacted soldiers began to revive and heal.

A body slumped to the ground next to him and Clark, having just freed his bound hands, turned to look at it. The sight of Tess' red hair darkened with even redder blood made him aware that while the weapons were not fatal for the aliens, they were quite effective on humans.

She wasn't quite dead yet, and her eyes rolled toward his direction with a look that almost resembled relief and maybe some grief. He almost felt guilty that he felt those same things in that moment.

The fighting somewhat under control, a black-masked figure holding a cross-bow in an oddly familiar stance dropped down next to Tess and placed a gloved hand over the wound in her gut. Even with Clark's limited medical knowledge or combat know-to, he could tell that the action would delay nothing, yet it surprised him. She was a traitor and yet the Resistance wanted to save her. They still valued every human life—regardless of what that human life had sowed and now reaped. While he admired it—he didn't understand it.

Back in his time, those unbiased and life-reverent thoughts had gotten his friends killed. Placing a hand against his still bleeding neck, Clark remained convinced that he was right.

Tess coughed at the touch, spraying blood and spittle onto the figure's mask. "Take these," she ground out around painful gasps. She seemed to want to say more but things were fading fast for her as she pressed something into her would-be savior's hand. Instead, she just repeated herself and took a final breath. "Take these..."

The figure angrily turned and made a few hand signals to someone behind Clark, and when he rolled onto his back to follow the line of vision, his was cut off with a hood being pulled over his head. Then, he was pulled to his feet and his hands were re-tied behind his back with a gruff warning, "Keep quiet."

Clark had escaped the fire—but, given the actions of the people he thought were his recue, he wondered if it were only to land in the frying pan.

*~\s/~*

Despite the instructions he'd received at the once-Luthor Mansion, Clark had been peppering his—captors?—with constant questions since they had hooded him. It didn't matter, though, because all through the journey (some in a vehicle, some on foot, but mostly crouched and crawling), no one had answered him. Now, finally free of the hood and his wounds tended, he was sitting in an unfamiliar room in what appeared to be an old warehouse. His sense of direction was so off that all he could tell was that he was underground.

Clark looked across to the young teenager that had attended to his wounds. The girl looked dirty and nervous, and the weapon she seemed uncomfortable holding was quite effective in keeping him seated and quiet.

She suddenly straightened as footsteps approached the open space where a door would have stood and Clark jumped to his feet as a man he knew entered the room. "Oliver?" Suddenly the cross-bow laden figure back at the Mansion made sense… even though other things still didn't.

Oliver Queen, however still familiar, looked nothing like the cocky and sometimes infuriating playboy that Clark knew from his time. Oliver neither smiled nor acknowledged Clark's greeting, and something about the way he carried himself indicated his displeasure. With the world or with him, Clark couldn't tell.

"I'm taking him with me," Oliver told the girl.

She looked visibly relieved to be able to put her weapon down. "Yes, Sir. Do you need anything else, Sir?"

"Couple of wounded down the hall," Oliver replied, and the girl quickly disappeared after a curt salute.

Clark didn't like the feel of any of it. He was about to say so when Oliver turned and left, causing Clark to run to catch up. "Where are we going?"

"To see the General. I need to debrief the mission."

"Oliver!" Clark said, stepping forward to try and catch his friend's eye. "What's with all of the 'sirs' and the salutes? Why are children acting like soldiers?"

Oliver abruptly stopped walking and turned his full attention to Clark, emanating distaste through his pores. "You decide to show up after a year-and-a-half; you don't get to question how we survived without you." He started walking again, leaving a stunned Clark to follow. "It's a war, Clark. In wartime, *everyone* is a soldier."

Ten flights of stairs later, Clark realized where they were: the building that Jimmy had given Chloe for a wedding present. The place he had died.

Even though he was a bit shaken about hearing he'd been 'missing' for over a year, it wasn't that surprising. Oliver wasn't aware of Clark's Legion-expensed vacation. Still, the history of the place and the apparent consequences of his so-called disappearance only served to make his guilt settle heavily on his slumped shoulders. Just before they reached the closed double doors that would open to the room where he'd last seen his best friend's look of betrayal and dismay, Clark stopped Oliver's pace with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I…" Clark hesitated, wondering if this was the time to explain the Legion ring, or if it would even matter. The bottom line was that he had left. That was still the truth even back then—in his time. "I just… Thank you. I'm really glad that you and your army came to save me."

Oliver seemed to soften just a bit. "It's not my army," he replied, pushing open the door. "It's hers."

*~\s/~*

If he had learned anything from all of the haps of the day, Clark should have been constantly prepared to expect the unexpected. And he'd thought he was… that is, until the doors opened to the 'war room' to reveal a tank-top and holster-clad Lois Lane leaning over a table and going over a map with five other people.

He'd uttered, "Lois?" in surprised wonder only to have to take a small step back in response to the heat of the glare she fixed him with in return. That one look told him many things. It told him without words that his presence in that room was not entirely welcomed and that she ran a tight ship. Clark knew with no doubts that if he said anything else without prompt, he would be unceremoniously removed.

As Lois straightened her stance, removing her hands from the table, her five companions—two young women and three young men, aged between 18 and 25—mimicked her posture. They all stood at semi-attention; backs straight, legs widened, and hands clasped behind their backs. If he wasn't before, Clark was suddenly heavily aware that a lot had changed in over a year.

"Queen, report," Lois demanded.

The way her hair was pulled back into a tight bun made Clark think of the times when she looked like that at the Planet. Only, this time, even the addition of a stray pencil—as had been her trademark move—would not have softened her demeanor within miles of her previous personality. And that was saying something.

"What the hell happened out there?" she finished commanding.

Clark was aware of Oliver's position stiffening as he too responded to her posture. "At eleven hundred hours, Castle Team infiltrated enemy headquarters as directed. We were able to disrupt the planned execution and entered in a firefight with Zod's soldiers."

"Casualties?"

Oliver cleared his throat. "Six."

Clark watched as Lois seemed to tense. "Theirs?" There was an underlying hope in the question, even though her voice didn't reveal it.

"One," Oliver replied, regretfully. He stepped forward and extended his open fist toward Lois.

She reached out and pulled what Clark realized were dog tags from Oliver's hand. "It was Tess," Oliver said. "She made sure I took her tags."

Clark wasn't expecting Lois's reaction at the announcement. A sudden break from her stoic persona, she seemed momentarily defeated. But then, the moment passed and her expression hardened again. Clark thought that maybe he had only wished to see the change—and had not actually witnessed it happen.

"It didn't work," she spat out. She composed herself and focused her hard stare on Oliver again. "You recovered all the bodies?"

Oliver glanced in Clark's direction as he answered. "We didn't have time."

Clark didn't know how it was possible, but that glance told him that somehow, the lack of recovery was his fault.

Oliver resumed his previous stance and appeared to wait and Lois lowered her jaw in thought. "That bastard forced our hand and we had to move before we were ready. It was too soon. The formula wasn't…" Trailing off, Lois pulled the dog tags to eye level to study them. "There's a chip embedded here," she announced, rubbing at an area on one of the metal rectangles. "Simon."

One of the young women stepped forward. "Sir."

"Take this and see if you can get a read on the chip." Lois handed the chain and tags over, but before she completed released them, she caught the woman's hand. "Six of ours died for this," she warned solemnly. "Make sure we find something."

The woman saluted her understanding and took off at a jog. Clark's eyes followed her out of the room and then back to Lois.

And even though Oliver had clued him in with the 'her army' quip, it wasn't until this moment, seeing her command the room with a look and a soft word, that Clark realized that *this* was General Lane.

*~\s/~*

Clark reluctantly descended the stairs ahead of Oliver. He hadn't wanted to leave the war room or Lois just yet, and apparently Oliver knew that—which is why he made Clark go first, so he couldn't turn around without him knowing. Many things were irking Clark about that: the first being that his friend could read his intentions so well, the second being that he wasn't trusted enough to walk without a 'guard', and finally—mostly—was the way he had been summarily dismissed by 'General Lane' without so much as a hello.

She had merely turned to Oliver and said 'Take care of him." Then, she and her remaining lieutenants had returned to their maps. Clark wasn't about to let that go. It stung to greatly and he wasn't even altogether sure why.

"Zod mentioned a General Lane…" he started, glancing over his shoulder at Oliver's stoic expression. "…I wasn't expecting Lois."

Oliver didn't respond, but Clark could tell he was gritting his teeth by the bulging muscle in the man's jaw.

"I would think that someone like you would take the reins in a situation like this," Clark continued, reaching the landing and moving to continue down the next flight of stairs. He paused when he heard Oliver's snort.

"What?"

Oliver shook his head and pushed Clark none-too-gently to continue down the steps. The hard glint in his eyes made Clark resist and push back. "What? Just tell me what the hell is going on!"

Oliver's eyes narrowed as he fisted a hand around Clark's collar. "Maybe you don't deserve to know." He released Clark's collar, and Clark—normal strengthened human that we was—realized that Oliver was actually quite powerful in his own right. The release of his collar had sent him stumbling down the steps and he grabbed at the broken railing to stop from completely falling.

Oliver's hand on his arm was the other thing that kept him from descending the stairs on his face. "Sorry."

Clark saw remorse and something else in his friend's expression. "Oliver…"

"You two always did underestimate each other. You don't give her enough credit, Clark. You never did."

Clark thought he recognized Oliver's expression now. He tilted his head as he studied the blond-haired man. "Are you two…?" For some reason, the question caught in his throat. He nodded back up the stairs, in the direction they came from instead of completing it.

Oliver stiffened again—almost as if he sensed a threat. "You had your chance, Clark. She's moved on." He pushed Clark again, gentler this time, and they started down the steps again.

Clark felt strangely defeated. Oliver's answer confused him. "What do you mean, 'had my chance'?"

Oliver once again shook his head as he pushed Clark toward the door to the floor they were on—two above where he had been before.

"Oliver! What chance? There was never a me and Lois…" Clark trailed off in confusion.

Oliver snorted again. "You always could see everything but what was right in front of you."

The response seemed heavier than Clark could deal with at the time. He would have to digest it later—as it stood, it felt like it was going to lead him down a path of discovery and regret. He had enough to deal with… like trying to breech some forgiveness from one of his friends.

"Listen, Oliver… about where I've been all this time. The Legion…"

But Oliver shook his head curtly, and Clark realized that they were no longer alone. Young soldiers crossed their path as they moved down a long hallway with open rooms on either side. Clark could see that some of the rooms were sparsely occupied, and bundles of blankets served as beds where cots weren't available.

They stopped at a room and entered. Oliver pulled a few blankets off of piles that had a spare and handed them to him. "Corners are high commodity around here," Oliver said. "I'd suggest you find a wall and make do until one opens up. They're an organized bunch, but people are people, and they still fight for the finer things." He took a saddened look around the room before adding, "…Even when the finer things are really just higher piles of dirt."

"Where does Lois sleep?" Clark asked without thinking. He realized how that sounded when he saw Oliver's eyes narrow. "I mean… I just, um, wonder if she's safe." It was lame to his ears as well.

"Well, when she does sleep, it's in a room right off Watch Tower."

"Watch Tower?" Clark questioned, not asking about Oliver's place of rest given the obvious.

"Yeah, upstairs… It was Chloe's idea."

Clark felt ashamed for not having thought about Chloe until that mention of her name. "Chloe! Where is she?"

Oliver sighed. "We need to go to the sound room. I think it's time we both did some explaining."

*~\s/~*

_tbc..._


	4. FOUR

[PART FOUR]

*~\s/~*

A week later, Clark was angry and frustrated.

Initially, he'd been sympathetic. After Oliver's description of the last year-and-a-half, he'd been left in shock and complete awe. He'd looked at his surrounding in a whole new light. Tragedy. It was all around him. It was in front of him and behind him. In the future and in the past.

The 'sound room' that Oliver had taken him to had been a sound proofed room on the bottom level near where he'd been treated for his wounds when he'd first arrived at the Resistance's headquarters. Apparently, the sound room was also an interrogation room—which explained the whole hood thing he'd gone through with Lois and Oliver's squad. The Resistance had an intake process, and they'd had to follow it for the sake of appearances, even if Oliver could have vouched for him.

Lois's army was built up of young adults and older-aged teenagers, something that had to happen after Zod's cruelty had been unleashed on all resisting adults. The Resistance was basically a group of orphaned children, banded together under the solid rule of one of their own. They looked to Lois as the big sister who they could trust implicitly, and she led them through a tight regimen of drills, processes, and policies. When the world around them was falling apart and not making sense, Lois was the only thing that they could count on. And, from what Oliver relayed—and from what Clark observed on his own-she didn't take the responsibility lightly.

The story of her rise to leadership was a horrendous one. When Zod and his fellow invaders had arrived upon the scene with their powers (an event coinciding with the activation of the two Rao Towers and the red sun), the US Army, led by General Sam Lane, had come to protect its citizens and its land.

Unfortunately, their campaign was not successful.

General Zod had been amused, then mocking. He'd made a public show of destroying the human forces, only to then move on to any group or individual that threatened even a mere attempt at fighting back.

The only thing that saved them was the fact that Zod wanted slaves.

A ruler was nothing without people to rule. That was the only thing that kept Zod from killing every human that crossed his path.

Then Zod wanted to find The Blur—and since it was known that the unseen hero spoke often to Lois Lane, he'd used every trick in his twisted little book to draw her into his game as bait. First, he'd used her father. Then her sister.

Her cousin went next.

And through it all-Oliver relayed to Clark-Lois didn't come forward. One, because The Blur had stopped talking to her and she wouldn't have been able to relay his whereabouts to save anyone's lives. And two, because she was holding out hope that The Blur would still save them.

Each time she waited.

And each time, he didn't come.

And each time, she became a little more isolated and alone.

And when he could kill no one else in an attempt to make her weaker, she became Zod's strongest opposition.

Clark had learned that the state of Kansas was under alien control. The rest of the US—and the world—was at a standstill. Their weapons were ineffective and Zod had agreed to remain in his current territory as long as he was left alone.

They were at an impasse. Kansas had become a Red Zone: abandoned and sacrificed for a temporary peace.

To Clark's relief—although he was guilty about feeling it given all of the loss experienced by his friends—Lois had been able to smuggle his mother out of the state before Zod had gotten to her. He would forever be grateful to Lois for her care of his mother, and he would love to tell her just that, but he hadn't been able to see her since the first day he arrived.

Well, that wasn't completely true. He'd seen her as he worked alongside the youngsters on his detail, but he was never allowed to get close enough to speak to her. Now, he was aggravated at having to use Oliver as a go-between.

From what he had gathered from the other soldiers in Lois's 'army', Zod had a few human beings under his command-those that had sold their allegiance to him either out of some misguided desire for Utopianism, or at the threat of their lives. They were the first converts, and due to Zod's immense obsession with finding and eliminating Lois and her Resistance, there was the potential that anyone rescued from Zod's clutches could potentially be a spy. It explained their need for caution—and for some of the other unspeakable things that took place in the Sound Room.

Clark felt deeply that he should be on the inside circle with Oliver and the other people his age. Instead, because Lois refused to acknowledge him, he was stuck with a crew of later-aged teens... a group that essentially was on internal guard detail. Instead of getting information from the front lines, he was stuck piecing together details from overheard conversations. It irritated him.

He knew he could be of help. He vowed that he would tell Lois everything about himself... if only he could just get a moment alone with her to explain. But he also knew that before that could happen, he'd have to convince Oliver.

*~\s/~*

"I can help."

Oliver frowned, showing obvious doubt in Clark's announcement. "Help with what?"

They were in what the inhabitants called the 'gym'. It was really just a cleared out open floor of the building that was used for sparring. Some of the exposed panels and walls had been buffered with cushions pilfered from old chairs and spare blankets. There weren't very many of those. It reminded Clark of the abandoned military fort that had been re-commissioned by some really bad people as a death-by-fight club.

He and Oliver were the only people on the floor—the rest of Clark's 'unit' having been dismissed earlier when their drills had completed. Clark's staying behind had become an expected outcome of his refusal to spar with any of his unit mates. Unwilling to let Clark refuse to train, Oliver had spent the last three days trying to teach him the basics. If Oliver's frustration was anything to judge by, Clark wasn't doing so well.

"I can help with the mission!" Clark answered, failing to mimic the stance Oliver was demonstrating.

"C'mon, Kent! Focus! You're wasting my time."

Clark half-heartedly raised his fists. Then, with a sigh, dropped them back to his sides. "We've done this before, remember?"

"Yeah, and I kicked your ass then too. Get your stance."

"I don't want to fight you, Oliver."

Oliver dropped out of his stance and sighed dejectedly. "How can you help us if you can't fight?"

"I want to talk to her... I want to tell her..."

"You already talk too much. *She's* the one that wants you to learn to fight." Oliver lunged toward Clark and landed a blow to his back.

Wincing, Clark straightened and readied to defend against another hit. "Then let *her* tell me that," Clark countered, shouldering a half-powered kick from his sparring partner.

Oliver groaned in disgust. "*I'm* telling you, Kent. Now attack!"

Clark shook his head, but kept his arms lifted in a defensive stance. "I'm not going to fight you. And you know that I won't have to learn any of this if you'd let me help my way."

Oliver threw up his hands in disgust before fisting them on his hips. "Your way," he scoffed. "You're always so damn cocky." He stepped forward and lowered his voice. "You don't have powers in this world, Kent. So if you want to help... *her*... then you need to shut the hell up and learn to fight."

Quicker than Clark could see coming, his legs were swept from under him and he was lying on his back looking up at his former friend.

Instead of following Oliver's command to jump up and commence with the exercise, Clark braced his weight on one elbow. The truth was, he wasn't really hurt, but he knew that if Oliver wanted to hurt him-really hurt him—he was outmatched. "No."

"I said get up!" Oliver growled, pacing forward and reaching out a hand for Clark to grab. They stayed locked in a battle of eyes and wills for a full five minutes before the blond appeared to break. "We can't keep doing this, Clark."

That was where Clark was in agreement. He reached up and allowed Oliver to pull him to his feet. He was finally feeling some hope that his friend—the smart aleck arrow-wielder and not the stoic war-scarred sergeant—was peeking through. It was the first time he'd called Clark by his first name.

"I want to help, Oliver," Clark tried again, now that he sensed a truce. "And you know that I can. If it's anyone's fight, it's mine."

"You don't understand." The look in Oliver's eyes were half pleading with Clark to let it go.

Clark didn't know what the other half-pleading that he saw there was for. "Then make me understand, Oliver. Please."

"Queen!"

At the sound of his name, Oliver released Clark's hand and took a backwards step. His commanding officer had just entered the room.

Clark turned in surprise, wondering just how long she'd been there. "Lois..." he started, but once again, her glare silenced him.

Lois walked over to stand beside Oliver as she looked Clark up and down. "He'll complete the rest of today's training with me."

Oliver's expression morphed into one of mixed doubt and concern. "Lois," he whispered, dropping all pretense of stoicism and turning to face her.

Clark watched their exchange carefully, focusing on Lois's face when Oliver reached out for her. To his surprise, she smiled softly and faced the man holding her hand. Their eyes held a conversation that Clark couldn't follow, and then it ended when Lois nodded and pulled away. Oliver's posture stiffened once again and he tugged at the bottom of his shirt.

With a curt "Sir," to acknowledge his orders and a brief glance at Clark, Olliver turned on his heel and left the room.

When he looked back to Lois's face, Clark was disheartened to see that the 'General' was back in residence. "Lois, I..."

She cut him off with a raised hand, making him turn to follow while she slowly circled him. "Queen tells me you refuse to fight."

Clark kept his eyes on her as she moved. "I don't want to fight," he answered, repeating the mantra that had started this whole mess three days ago.

Lois scoffed and reversed her direction. "We all have had to do things we don't want to."

"Lois, there's something I need to tell you... About the Blur... see, I..." His words were swallowed in a cough as the wind was knocked out of him from a punch to the stomach.

Lois was standing beside his doubled-over figure. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much! Fight!"

Inhaling deeply, Clark straightened to see Lois before him in what he now knew to be a Sempok One due to his earlier failed lessons. He lifted his hands, preparing to use the same defensive argument that had gotten him out of fighting so far, but before he could even get started, Lois punched him in the shoulder.

This hit was nothing like the playful ones she used to give him. This one hurt. Badly.

He used his opposite arm to cradle the bruising shoulder and looked at her in surprise. "Lois!" Immediately he had to dance to the right to avoid the kick aimed at his left side. "Wait!"

She didn't.

Two blocked kicks and five blocked punches later, she landed one on the side of his jaw. He rubbed the corner of his mouth and glanced down at the blood on his fingers. Sure, he had wanted time alone with her, but this was not anything close to how he'd imagined it going.

And now he was getting angry. He wasn't going to fight her—even though now he was beginning to see that *she* outmatched him too—but this had to stop somehow. He'd been planning to talk to her, to explain to her, to confess to her, but she was not listening or even caring. This was not his Lois. He didn't know who this was.

"Stop it!" he cried, blocking another flurry of punches aimed at his head and chest. He grabbed her in a bear hug when she was close, trapping those deadly arms within his in hopes of getting some respite. "Stop it."

For a moment, she did just that. Lured as he was by her stillness—save for the heaving of both of their chests from exertion-he was totally unprepared for the knee she sent into his groin.

He dropped to his knees; gritting his teeth and reeling from the pain.

Lois dropped to her haunches in front of him. "Lesson One: Don't trust anyone. The most dangerous things come in the prettiest packages."

Clark was in pain, angry, and hurt. "No sh!t!" he spat back, pressing his hands to his throbbing delicates.

His response must have amused her because she laughed as she stood and turned away from him. "Be careful, Kent, I'm still your commanding officer."

The fact that she was intent on leaving him there bruised his ego and made him lose his head. "You're no better than they are!" he yelled, satisfied when her posture stiffened and she stopped walking. He grinned, happy to have finally hit back. "Some commanding officer you are! Last I checked, *yours* were the only people that were dying!"

He knew he was going too far—knew that there were underlying daggers in his words that he didn't mean to throw—but he was over the edge. "You're here playing General with your child army while leaving the babies to die of hunger in prison camps!"

She slowly turned around to face him again, and even the pain he saw flashing behind the anger in her eyes was not enough to stop him.

"They're feeding them rats and you're doing nothing to save them."

Anger either made him faster or her slower because he was able to catch her foot mere inches from where it was seeking purchase against the side of his head. He held it aloft for a moment before pushing it up and away from him. He was both awed and upset by the graceful flip she did to regain her balance.

"You're a coward," she seethed at him, visibly holding herself from attacking him again. "You fight with words about things you know nothing of."

Clark refrained from speaking as he staggered to his feet. The dissipation of his anger was making the pain from his guilt and his wounds stand out.

"You want to know what *my* people have gone through?" she demanded, making him flinch. She took a step toward him. "How dare you show up here a year-and-a-half too late and question me... question *me* on how *my* people have had to survive? On how we've had to sacrifi..."

She paused and took a breath that Clark supposed was intended to be calming.

"Where the hell were you when my father's head was..." She sucked in another breath and Clark was all sorts of sorry then. "…When my baby sister was burned... When my cousin...!" In another step she was on him, hands fisted at his collar, anger sparking in her eyes like fire.

"Where were you when I had to cut out my own heart and sell my soul so I could do whatever it took-whatever it *takes*—to make sure that *my people* survive?"

"So now," she said forcefully, the passion of her emotion making her voice hoarse and spittle fly, "I need you to learn to fight so that I don't have to worry about what will happen if they get you too!"

It was then that he saw her—his Lois. It was then that he understood what Oliver had hinted about.

In her widened eyes he saw the vulnerability that she'd always fought so hard to cover; and he finally recognized *her*. He remembered *that* Lois sitting in a makeshift electric chair, pleading with a madman to believe that their engagement was a lie... and then *her* answering that same man with a broken 'yes.' He recognized *that* Lois from an 'almost' moment in a harvest-theme decorated barn, all wary eyes and worried brow before his attention was drawn elsewhere. He remembered her looking at him with those eyes, and only just now, he realized that those eyes had been begging him to *do* something. To stop her.

He finally realized that, because those eyes were doing the same thing now. Begging him to stop her.

"Lois..." he whispered, moved beyond belief after finally realizing the depth of what she had felt for him then... realizing the depth of what she was fighting against now.

She blinked and he could literally see her mind working as she struggled to pull herself back together. He was watching the struggle between the General and the Girl, and he knew which one he wanted. "Lois, stay with me."

When her brow furrowed, he feared that those had been the wrong words. She cleared her throat and slowly uncurled her fists from around the lapels of his jacket. Her eyes were still troubled, but her posture was returning to that cursed stiffness. He shook his head, trying to emote his dismay but afraid to speak again.

"Sorry," she said gruffly, stepping away. "Sorry." Then she turned and strode purposefully—because the General didn't run—into the stairwell.

It took Clark a moment before he shook off his stupor and followed her. He dashed up the stairs and reached the double doors of the war room in time to hear Lois tell her night lieutenant to get 'Out!'

The young man looked at Clark with mixed surprise and suspicion as he passed him at the doors. Ignoring the look, Clark lifted his gaze to where Lois was thundering up a metal framed staircase to the upper level.

Then, without any additional hesitation, he sprinted after her.

*~\s/~*

_tbc..._


	5. FIVE

[PART FIVE]

*~\s/~*

He found her in the only room on that level—a large open space that held a full-sized mattress on the floor. He hesitated momentarily at the door-less entryway, suddenly struck with the sad realization that this was probably what was supposed to be Jimmy and Chloe's bedroom. When Lois turned to face him, he could see that she was still mentally struggling with her own vulnerability. He knew the feeling—albeit in a different sense. His struggle with vulnerability was physical.

Still, he wanted to help her, and if that meant he had to put his own need to confess aside for a moment, he would. He was starting to understand her turmoil. Lois Lane had always been the most passionate person he'd known, but now, the situation she was charged with was so stressful that she'd had to channel all of that energy into one area. Her outburst at him had opened some of the doors she'd sealed shut, and now she was trying to put the demons back into Pandora's box.

He knew the feeling—the conflict of fighting between man and superman. She could either be Lois or General Lane, the supposed-savior of her woe-begotten people. As much as he hated it, he would have to help her put her psyche back together so that he could convince her to let him help her stop Zod. If she broke down right now… the whole house of cards, as delicate as it was, would collapse… and right now that was scarier than the other fear he didn't dare poke at.

That she had felt something for him once, but wouldn't—couldn't—do it again.

"Lois…" he approached her slowly with his hands raised. "I know what you're doing. I know who you need to be right now." His eyes sought hers to imprint his sincerity. "I'll help you… whatever you need me to do-just tell me."

She crossed the space between them so quickly that he readied himself for another physical attack. When she did attack, it wasn't anything like he'd been expecting. She jumped him.

Lacking powers, he also lacked grace, so it was a somewhat painful blessing that he'd been standing in front of her mattress, so when they fell—her on top of him, his limbs tangled with hers—they landed on something somewhat soft.

He blinked up at her in surprise.

"Shut up," she said, pulling her arms free in order to place them on the bed on either side of his head. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too damn much?"

She dropped her chin to her chest and Clark had to shake his head to clear it from the curtain of hair that fell from her loosened French braid. "Lois."

She groaned, and he sheepishly smiled at his inability to follow such a simple command.

"Clark… I just need…" He could see her chin moving as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I haven't allowed myself to go there before… To remember. To feel…" She met his gaze with watery, tear-threatened eyes. "I can't…"

They were pleading with him again, but there was nothing he could do to comply. He wouldn't have been able to stop what was coming had he been infused with sunlight and a fresh transfusion of Kryptonian blood.

He was paralyzed by those pleading eyes as Lois lowered her face to his, and then transfixed by the feel of her breath brushing against his lips in soft pants.

"…*feel*." He felt more than heard that final word as she spoke it right before closing the final distance between their mouths.

For a surprised minute, he didn't respond, but her urgency was apparent through all of the different places where her body rubbed against his. With a swallowed growl, he flipped her over, moving his weight to his knees in an attempt to keep *all* of his blood from draining from his head. The soreness in that region from earlier made things more sensitive in a way that set his nerves on fire. He had never thought he would be the one excited by pain.

Apparently, Lois could read his mind, because she mumbled an apology against his tender jaw and slid her hands down to pamper his tender spot with gentle hands.

When his eyes began to seek refuge behind his upper eyelids, Clark knew there would be no stopping until everything was healed.

*~\s/~*

For yet another time on this trip, Clark found himself pulling his mind back to consciousness. This time, however, he wasn't in pain although his recent memories suggested that he should be. It was far more recent memories, though, that reigned and made him grin while his eyes were still closed.

He knew he hadn't slept long, and yet something unsettled him. Lazily reaching an arm out to his side, he realized what it was. She wasn't there.

He sat up abruptly, opening his eyes in a panic that came from too many false dreams. His eyes found her at the window, wrapped in a tattered red sheet, and staring unseeingly ahead. Pulling his own sheet around his nakedness, he softly walked up behind her to take in what she was looking at.

It was still dark, but the slightest glimmer of light hinted at the rising dawn.

"You shouldn't be awake yet," Lois said without turning around.

Clark lifted a hand to tangle his fingers in the unruly locks that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. She was still his Lois for the time being and suddenly he felt a reverence for her that he'd never before experienced. "Neither should you," he countered.

She smirked at that and continued to watch the sliver of light grow. They silently watched the sun rise together.

When a full glowing ball hung above the horizon but not yet above the ominous two towers that stood in the distance, Lois broke the silence. "This sky… this red haze… it's a symbol of our death."

"It doesn't have to be," he replied quickly. Her defeated tone troubled him. He couldn't let that stand. It was time. His fingers sorrowfully traced a burn scar that he'd discovered hours before on the back of her left shoulder. "Lois. I am… I was…"

"The Blur," she finished for him, shocking him into silence. "I know. I even knew before your mother told me."

Clark's brow furrowed. "You knew?" He chewed on that for a moment. "Why didn't you…?"

Lois turned to face him, dislodging his hand from her shoulder. "Why didn't *you*?" she countered.

"I tried… I kept saying that I wanted to talk to you."

She shook her head. "No, not now. I mean, why didn't you ever tell me *before*?"

When he took too long to reply, she waved any potential answer he might have had once his shock subsided with a hand. Turning back to the window, she said, "This world is all black and white… and red. There are no in-betweens anymore. Benefit of the doubt died with the world's faith in the Blur."

Clark felt rattled by that statement. He knew that the Blur's disappearance had to have been devastating, but…

"The sky turned red, and he still didn't show."

Now that she'd admitted to knowing, Clark wondered why she continued to refer to him in the third person.

"People with similar powers to his fell from the sky, and he still didn't show," she continued. "They decided he was on their side. I fought that rumor for as long as I could… but he never showed."

"Lois, I was…"

"Does it really matter, Clark? Where you were?" Her gaze was piercing as she looked at him over her shoulder. "Now? Here?"

Clark frowned, unsure of what would be the right answer. The pieces were coming back together for her: the General was replacing her armor.

"It's like your life after a fire," she said, once again gazing at the red sky. "Piles of ash blowing away in the wind. Some things you just have to let go—the things we lost. They are beyond recovery."

He had a sinking suspicion about what those 'things beyond recovery' were in this context.

"Those towers," she continued flatly. "Did Oliver explain?"

"Yes… but Lois, if the towers come down I can stop them."

She gave him a sad smile in response. "Before she died…Chloe…" Her hesitation revealed the pain behind her feelings just as much as a grimace might have.

"You don't have to tell me this right now…" Clark interrupted, not wanting to make her revisit her losses despite his previous desire for answers.

"Yes, I do. I need to tell it and you need to hear it." She stepped to the side of the large window and braced one shoulder against the wall. "Before she died," she repeated, "Chloe was working on a virus that would corrupt the LuthorCorp satellite."

"So you have a plan?"

"There's always a plan," she replied, rolling her eyes and reminding him of their interactions in *his* time. "Problem is, plans sometimes don't go as planned."

Wanting to coax more lightness out of her, he asked, "Lesson Two?"

She smirked at him and he was strangely elated, suddenly able to identify and name the feeling that underlay his continuous desire to egg her on.

He loved her smile. Hell, he might have been in love with it… The sound of her voice saved him from thinking about that further.

"It won't work."

He frowned at her. "What?"

"The virus," Lois answered. "When the aliens—the *Kandorians*—revealed themselves when the war began… Chloe took Watchtower offline so they wouldn't be able to find us." She frowned at a silent memory. "Zod tried other ways to get us to come out."

Clark lowered his head, gravely aware of Zod's other methods. After a few moments of silence bathed in red sunlight, Clark's brow furrowed. He thought about a new topic as a change of subject. "There's one thing I still don't quite understand," he started. In truth, there were many things he didn't quite get, but this one thing was at the top of the list. "When I first heard about the leader of the Resistance being 'General Lane'…"

Lois turned and gave him a knowing smirk. "You expected to see my father?" she asked.

Clark shrugged. "Well… yeah."

"And so, how did I get this position." She said it flatly, without surprise, but also without amusement.

Given her tone, Clark felt a little guilty for agreeing, but didn't really understand why.

She sighed. "I was trained for this, Clark," she said sadly. "Sometimes I think that maybe I was born to do it."

His frown deepened; still not sure how any of what she was saying added up to her being this 'fearless leader' he had never seen in her before.

"Ever tried running from Destiny?" she asked with a wry chuckle, once again glancing at him with a knowing look. "Seems like no matter where you go, there you are."

Clark smiled in an automatic response to her joke, but still felt confused. "Sure… I guess."

"I was my father's best creation," Lois explained. "His best soldier. He trained me to be a military strategist from the time I could say 'tank'—which, naturally—was my first word. He taught me everything, sent me through all the same drills and courses that his top officers went through, and all of that was before I hit middle school. Lucy got the real childhood—the real schools, the real friends… the real father." She paused and continued after an almost inaudible sigh, "I got the real General Lane."

Clark shook his head slightly. "But I thought you and your dad didn't…"

"Get along? No," she finished. "Once ninth grade rolled around, I was tired of all the training. I ran away. You don't go AWOL on a three-star general and not expect anything less than a court martial."

She turned to fully face Clark, once again leaning against the battered window sill, and crossed her arms over her chest. Clark got the impression that it was a protective gesture. Protection against him or against the memories, he wasn't sure.

"My father *was* the first General Lane, but then Zod… took the head off of his enemy."

Clark knew that she meant that literally and swallowed thickly in response.

Lois continued without further hesitation. "Zod and his gang destroyed whoever came in his path with an air of authority. The army. The Guard..." She stopped and studied his face and Clark knew he hadn't schooled his disbelief in time. "Still don't see how it came to me, huh?"

"No! No… I just… I mean. How did you stay alive if Zod got all of them?"

"I'm a strategic genius," she quipped. One of her eyebrows raised in challenge and he wasn't sure how serious to take her. "Really," she added soberly. "You'd know if you had ever played chess with me. Suffice it to say that this is a role I never wanted, but one that ended up being mine nonetheless."

She turned away from him again. "What I refused to give my father in his life, he got anyway in his death."

Clark was struck by how much her tale seemed to mimic what was almost his story…

"You should get some more sleep," Lois said. "There are a couple of hours before everything starts again."

Clark worried about the sadness in her tone. *His* Lois was slipping away from him again and he didn't know if this was going to be the last he would see of her. Even though he promised himself that he would help her stay strong if that was what she needed, the closeness that he'd shared with her the night before made it impossible to let her go. It was almost as if he was giving away the one thing he finally realized that he wanted… even though he knew that it was just a moment for her—a needed venting so that she could weld herself together even stronger after it was over.

And yet, she was the leader. This was her fight, but he couldn't help but feel the weight of the guilt he carried at the thought that maybe—just maybe—this was supposed to be *his* fight first. And that it would have been if he hadn't run away.

"I wish I could fix this." He meant to say it to himself, but he ended up saying it loud enough that he said it to her.

She turned narrowed eyes on him, and he could still see that part of her was still with him. The glint in her eyes still held the smallest modicum of vulnerability. She reached out and touched his arm, rubbing lightly. "Ollie told me that you lost your return ticket."

Clark was taken aback a little. No matter how many times she surprised him with the depth of her knowledge—and blanket acceptance—of each of his secrets, she still managed to do it all over again. "You know about the Legion Ring too?"

She graced him with an indulgent smile. "Strategic genius," she reminded him. "I know a lot of things, Kent." She thought for a minute, then smirked and added, "Lesson Three."

He smiled widely and fought the urge to gather her into his arms. Belatedly, he wondered why he fought the urge.

She spoke again, and the moment was lost. "Well, if you're stuck here, we'd better come up with a way to bring the Blur back into rotation."

Clark nodded, but felt somewhat doubtful. He was all for defeating Zod and saving the world, but given the public's opinion of the Blur, he wasn't so keen on returning to the black trench coat look anytime soon. "Yeah."

"But first: sleep," she ordered.

He caught her hand as she pulled away. "I did sleep," he said, realizing something else about the look of her eyes. "Did you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't…"

"Need to sleep?" he challenged. "Bull."

They exchanged glares and Clark decided that she was either unfamiliar with getting opposed in this new world of hers, or that she really was too tired to fight, because, uncharacteristically, she gave in first.

With a sigh, she lowered her gaze. "I… can't sleep," she confessed softly, lifting her right hand so she could massage the back of her neck. "Too many scenarios to run, too many lives to protect, too many… dreams to not have."

Clark stepped closer and placed his hand over the one at the back of her neck. "Let me watch your back."

*~\s/~*

_tbc..._


	6. SIX

[PART SIX]

*~\s/~*

This time when Clark woke up, he was once again in the bed alone, but the person standing at the window was not who he expected. Clearing his throat, he tugged at the bed sheet to confirm that his nakedness was hidden while ducking from the hard glare that was being sent his way. "Oliver," he greeted weakly, realizing for the first time that he hadn't even thought about his blond haired friend… or where said friend would have slept last night.

Oliver tossed something at him, and Clark released the sheets in time to catch what turned out to be his clothes just before they hit him in the face. "Listen, Oliver," Clark began, sliding into his jeans when the other man turned his back. "I didn't… I mean, I'm sorry. Lois…"

"Can it, Kent," Oliver said gruffly. "We've got to move."

It was clear that Oliver was not happy with the situation and Clark grimaced. He had never meant to be *that* guy: the one that took someone else's girl. He sighed loudly as he slid his shirt over his head.

"Lois Lane doesn't *belong* to anyone, Kent," Oliver said, turning around and apparently reading Clark's mind, "but she's always been yours." The retort was bitter and pronounced by the shove of his jacket against his chest as Oliver walked by.

Recovering from the push, Clark shook out the jacket and put it on. "But you still love her," he tried gently.

Oliver's eyes blazed when he glanced at Clark over his shoulder. He fixed him with that heated stare for a long moment. "As much as she lets *anyone* love her. Anyone until you, that is."

Clark silently followed Oliver out of the room and down the metal stairs to the strangely inactive war room. Although he wanted to ask where everyone was, he decided to wait until Oliver's anger sated a bit before attempting conversation. His determination to be patient ended, however, when their path through the main halls—which usually bustled with changing guards daily—revealed a state of frenzy.

Clark shifted to stand against the side wall when a group of five young soldiers ran past him. "What's going on?"

"Just some irons in the fire," Oliver responded curtly. His tone, while now absent of anger and bitterness, was all business.

Clark repeated the answer to himself in confusion. "Where's Lois?" he asked, frowning. He didn't like the feeling of dread that prickled his senses.

It was the same feeling of dread that had started to build earlier that morning when, after coaxing Lois back to bed, she had insisted on him getting more sleep. He had pushed the unease aside, chocking it up to her insistence on withdrawing back into her 'General' persona. He had wanted to hold that inevitability off for as long as possible, and when he'd refused to close his eyes or take them off of her, she'd resorted to other ways to make him sleep—namely, exhaustion.

Not that he'd complained at the time.

But now… that unwelcome sensation was back and it was making him feel that there was something he was not being told.

"Oliver…" Clark demanded worriedly at the lack of response. "Where is she?"

"Relax, Kent," the other man replied without turning around. He continued to lead Clark through the activity heightened halls. "She's working."

Clark had no choice but to accept the answer as he picked up his pace to follow Oliver when he started running down the hall. He wondered again what it meant to have 'irons in the fire' and how serious that really was.

He followed Oliver down another flight of stairs at the rear of the building and found himself in a large garage that he'd never seen before. They stopped running when they reached another dark-haired man their age. He and the black sports car he was standing next to were the only things in the large cavernous space.

"Gordon," Oliver greeted.

The man saluted and said, "Sir," with a nod.

Oliver nodded back and then glanced at Clark. "You remember Kent?"

"Of course," Gordon replied, turning to salute Clark. "Sir."

Clark was sure that he'd never been formally introduced to the man, but he followed Oliver's lead and responded to the salute with a nod. Whatever the case, warranted or not, it seemed to be enough for Gordon, because he turned to open the car door on the driver's side. Stepping back, he indicated that Clark should climb into the back seat.

"After you, Sir."

Clark looked over to Oliver for an explanation, but the blond-haired man had already ducked into the passenger side of the car. Clark gave an internal shrug of exasperation and followed suit.

A minute later, Gordon had cranked the car into gear and they were speeding toward what appeared to be a brick wall.

"Please hold tight, Sirs, we're going to have to move fast."

In his seat, Clark found himself pressing deeper against the cushion at his back in response to more than centrifugal force. It wasn't until the brick wall lifted with the ease of a swinging door that he was able to uncurl his fingers from around the inside door handle.

The sports car was momentarily airborne as it exited the building. Once the wheels had found purchase on asphalt, Clark swallowed and braced himself while reaching for the seatbelt.

"Are we on schedule?" Oliver asked, not looking the least bit worried as Gordon steered the car through the debris-laden streets at a speed Clark had only experienced while super-powered.

"Affirmative," came the answer, and Clark silently preferred the man to concentrate on driving than on answering questions. "Team Barney made contact sixty-eight minutes ago."

Finding his voice, Clark piped in, "Team Barney?"

Gordon looked over to the passenger seat with a question in his expression, but answered when Oliver lifted a hand and waved his acquiescence. "The purple dinosaur, Sir. Team Barney was sent to clear the nursery."

Clark frowned at the answer, listening as Oliver continued where he'd left off. "How much time does that leave us before re-animation?"

"Fifty-two minutes max," Gordon answered, pulling nearly a ninety-degree turn onto a cleared strip of highway. "And we have forty minutes to the rendezvous point at the Ark."

Oliver seemed to barely hold back a grunt of displeasure. "Make it thirty, Captain."

"Sir."

Clark's head involuntarily went backwards as the car incredibly picked up additional speed. He blinked and tried to catalogue the information he was hearing. Barney, purple dinosaur… "Nursery?" he recited in confusion.

"Yeah," Oliver answered. "Remember those kids you were so sure we were leaving to rot in that prison camp?" He met Clark's eyes briefly in the rear view mirror. "We're getting them out."

Silently acknowledging the accusation in Oliver's tone, Clark realized that he really hadn't had enough information about the situation to assume that there hadn't been a plan for the kids at the farm. Still…

"She's always had people watching them, Kent," Oliver added, probably noticing his perplexed expression. "It was just easier to leave them in a place where we could keep tabs on 'em than to bring them to the middle of the war zone."

Clark had to agree that they were probably safer that way. Even the Mother of the Revolution could only do so much. "We're going to the farm?" he asked doubtfully. There was no way they were going to be able to get to Smallville in less than thirty minutes unless the car could also attain warp speed.

"No. Phase One was Barney. Phase Two is Noah and the Ark. That's us."

Clark shook his head at the names, slightly amused at the thought of Lois thinking them up, while at the same time being frustrated with the lack of details he was being given. Out of context, those names meant absolutely nothing to him. Like… what the hell was the Ark?

He dared to lean forward in order to ask, but lost that track of thought when he noticed with some anxiety the way their driver was peering fearfully at the sky as he drove. "Should we be expecting company?"

"Hope to hell not," Oliver responded, also gazing upwards at the sky. He sighed and then shifted around in the seat so that he could face Clark. "The plan is to get to the Ark before the baddies wake up."

Clark frowned again. "What do you mean *wake up*?"

Oliver squeezed his eyes together briefly and rubbed his chin. "Sh*t. Okay, story time." He spared a glance at Gordon who was once again focused on the expanse of road before them. "The first attack that General Lane—Lois—led against the, uh, invaders was aided by some information from an… agent embedded in the enemy's camp. She knew that they would be susceptible to green meteor rock." The intent look that accompanied Oliver's delivery left no doubt in Clark's mind about who the agent being described was.

Clark nodded his understanding and allowed himself a moment of silent apology at having immediately thought the worse about Tess' intentions. People, it seemed, were always surprising him.

Oliver continued, "Well, after that, Zod began doing his own… testing… to see if he could find a way to lessen his vulnerability to the mineral. He was so desperate to find a cure that he was willing to do experiments on his own people. And they were—*are*—loyal enough to his mad man cause that they let him."

Clark blanched at the thought of the inhumanity of the—well, inhumans.

"Eventually, they were successful. We were going to have to change up the composition of our weapons if we hoped to have any impact at all."

"Which you did…" Clark offered, remembering the way the Kandorians fell when the rescue team had *literally* saved his neck.

Oliver nodded, his attention half on the world outside the car's windows again. "We found some blue rocks. Apparently, the blue and the green combined make the effect last a little longer."

"Not long enough," Gordon muttered under his breath.

"Not long enough," Oliver repeated in agreement.

"The blue meteor rocks strip mah… their powers," Clark said, recovering from a near mis-speak. Oliver glared at him and Clark caught Gordon's slight frown via the rearview mirror. "Right?" he quickly asked, in an attempt to smooth it over.

"Maybe once," Oliver answered, still fixing him with a silent warning with his eyes, "but now our latest build just knocks 'em out longer."

"Long enough to get the Towers down?" Clark asked, feeling hopeful about where this was all leading.

Oliver hesitated for a moment before answering. "Maybe."

His response troubled Clark, but instead of prolonging the conversation, Oliver turned around in his seat again and fixed his attention on Gordon. "E T A?"

"Under ten," the man replied, obviously relieved. Barely slowing down, he took a hard left turn and steered the vehicle onto a suspension bridge. "I didn't think we'd get this far without any interaction. The decoys must have been successful."

Oliver nodded soberly and Clark wondered at what cost they were benefiting from the decoys' success. He was starting to feel a bit nauseous and it had nothing to do with the breakneck speed at which they were travelling. "Oliver," he started, dismayed that his voice cracked. He tried again. Harder and more forceful this time. "Oliver. Where's Lois?"

He could almost feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck as he curled his hands into fists and waited for his friend to answer.

Instead, Oliver leaned forward and tensed, eyes fixed on a large mountain up ahead. "Five minutes, Clark, and I promise you'll get the answers you're looking for."

Within a minute, they reached the end of the bridge and Clark recognized where they were headed. The LuthorCorp Geothermal Facility was located as far away from the city proper as it could be while still being a city property. It was the location where many underground blasts were held and facilitated. The last time he'd had the opportunity to pay a visit had been when he'd made a Doomsday-sized deposit.

If this was the 'Ark' that Oliver and Gordon were referring to, things were certainly not looking up.

Three minutes later, they were parking in front of the large steel-enforced door that served as the loading entrance when large semi-trucks had once made their deliveries. Just as they were getting out, another group of vehicles—three large black, window-less vans—pulled to a stop next to them.

Clark didn't have a chance to return to the answers Oliver had promised him before they were pressed into action. In all, Clark counted seven soldiers that he recognized from his time at Watch Tower jump from the vans and head, at Oliver's behest, toward the building's doors. Another man, dressed in tattered clothing, started unlocking the rear doors to the vans and waved for Clark and Gordon to help him.

When they arrived at the rear doors, Clark noticed that children of all ages—all dirty and scared—lined the cargo spaces. He realized that these were the kids from the camp.

"Nice to see you again, Captain," the man in the tattered clothes greeted, shaking Gordon's hand tightly.

Gordon slapped him on the back and it was obvious that they were both happy to see each other. "Glad to you didn't get yourself killed out there, Dale."

Dale grinned in reply. "Couple of burns here and there, but all in all I held my own."

Clark took another look at Dale. "I remember you…" he started, narrowing his eyes in thought. "You were the one stealing food."

Dale turned to Clark and smirked. "And you were the one using your face as a defense against Brutus' fists."

Gordon cleared his throat. "This is Kent," he introduced.

Immediately, Dale's smirk sobered. "But you stopped them from hurting me," he stated, saluting. "Thank you, Sir."

Clark frowned at the sudden change in demeanor. "You're welcome… I guess."

"Let's go kiddies," Dale said, turning to the open van doors and clapping his hands together.

*BANG*

Clark turned at the sound of the small explosion and saw that Oliver and the other soldiers were prying one of the heavy doors open. At the vans, Gordon and Dale were getting the children paired together and lined up. If it weren't for the gravity of the situation and the weapons the 'chaperones' were wielding, it could have been the makings of a scene of school kids on a fieldtrip.

"Kent!" Oliver yelled over to him. "Lead them in…"

Clark turned back to Gordon and Dale with raised eyebrows and Dale pointed to something behind him. Looking down, Clark realized that the line of paired children started directly behind him. At another gesture from Dale, Clark began to walk toward the building.

The darkness of the obviously abandoned physical plant caused many of the children some anxiety. Not knowing what to do as the whimpers started, Clark tried to sooth their fears. "It's okay, guys. Just stay together." He even tried saying things that he wasn't sure were true. "You're safe now."

Three others from Oliver's group—a young woman in her twenties, a female teenager, and a man around nineteen—had followed them into the dock area, so Clark ushered the kids toward them. Then, at the end of his mental, if not emotional, rope—he returned to the door, determined that the five minutes were up, and he was due some answers.

"Oliver…" he started, momentarily silenced by the sight of the first of the three vans being pushed off the side of the bridge. "What the…?"

Oliver turned from where he was supervising the demolition of the vans at the sound of his name. "Clark, why aren't you insi…"

"What are they doing?"

Oliver sighed and they both watched as the group began pushing the second van. "We can't leave clues for the aliens to figure out where we are… At least not easily," he explained.

"You said Lois would be here."

"No. I said you'd get answers," Oliver corrected, glancing down at his watch. "She told me to bring you here."

"What… "Clark grunted in frustration. "Oliver, please, just tell me what's going on!"

Nodding, Oliver stepped closer and grabbed Clark's arm, pulling him further away from where he might be overheard. "You remember what I told you about the meteor-powered weapons, right? And how we could potentially use them to get a chance at taking down the Towers? "

Clark nodded.

"Well, what you don't know is that we were on a deadline. The US government partnered with foreign leaders when Zod became a threat. They're at a standstill right now because Zod holds all the power. Lois… When she took the lead, it was the only thing that stopped the United Nations from sending in the nukes."

Clark's eyes widened as he thought of how willing the united human governments were to sacrifice human life in an attempt at eradicating the alien threat. "That wouldn't have stopped them," he said, shocked.

"That's what Lois got them to realize. Working with Tess and your mom, we were able to formulate a plan to use the green Kryptonite."

"Wait," Clark entered. "My mom?"

"Yeah. As a senator, she was able to get the talks started. And then, when Lois got her out of the Red Zone, she's the one that got us the extension."

The group began pushing the third van toward the edge. "The extension," Clark repeated. He glanced to the building at his back… The Ark. "The nukes are still coming," he stated, finally understanding where this was all going.

Oliver's shoulders slumped.

"When?" Clark asked, tilting his head as he studied his friend's sad expression.

Oliver glanced at his watch again but didn't answer and Clark felt his heart fall. "Lois…"

"Lois knew that if the nukes were going to have any effect on Zod's bunch, the Towers would have to come down."

Clark felt as if a lightening rod had been jammed down his back. "My mother would never let them bomb us if she knew Lois wasn't safe!" he exclaimed, still reeling from all the implications of what he was hearing.

Oliver held up his hands— a placating gesture. "The bombs were coming no matter what," he offered. "Your mom made Lois promise to be in the Ark."

Clark spun and crowded Oliver, unable to help but crowd the shorter man as he grabbed his collar. "But she's *not* here."

Oliver placed his hands on top of Clark's arms—warningly—but didn't push him away. "The original plan didn't account for you showing up."

Clark tilted his head, not understanding what Oliver meant.

"The nukes are laced with the green stuff just in case. Best-case scenario, we would have gotten the meteor-rock formula right and stopped Zod long enough to be able to call off D-day. Worst-case scenario, they wrap the bombs in Kryptonite and hope the nukes get 'em where the rocks don't. Welcome to worst-case."

Clark's grasp loosened.

"She wanted you safe," Oliver said. "If you're out here when the sky falls…" He paused and swallowed. "Well. You get the gist."

Clark thought back to the night before. [i]'My dream was always that the Blur would be here to help the world rebuild,'[/i] she'd said. Only then, he hadn't realized how far she would go to make that dream come real.

"It's a suicide mission," Clark choked out. Then, angrily, he tightened his grip again, "And you let her go through with it?"

Clark couldn't believe it. He'd been so sure that Oliver was in love with Lois, but in his mind, no man in love would stand by and allow himself to live when the woman he loved put herself in a position to die. He peered into the other man's eyes, desperately trying to see where he'd gone wrong in thinking the best of Oliver… when he realized that he hadn't.

Oliver's intentions were written clearly on his face. Yes: he still was in love with Lois Lane, whether she returned his feelings or not. No: he wasn't willing to go on living without her.

Clark turned his head and saw that the final vehicle –the sports car they had arrived in—was not in danger of being pushed into the raging waters below. In fact, Gordon was once again standing in the open door, waiting for his commander to take the keys and drive away.

Oliver followed Clark's line of sight. "The Captain goes down with the ship, Clark." His hands suddenly tightened on Clark's wrists, and then with a quick move, Oliver had him pinned to the ground with his arms twisted behind him.

Belatedly—having the wind knocked out of him—Clark wished he had paid attention when they were trying to teach him to fight.

Oliver leaned down so that his knee pressed deeper into Clark's kidney and his mouth was at his ear. "My last mission was to make sure that you lived. She did this all for you—try to live up to the honor."

With a final push, Oliver jumped up and ran to the car, disappearing a moment later in a squeal of tires and a burst of dirt.

Clark rolled onto his back and cursed the red sky.

A face entered into his range of sight, blocking out a section of the blank redness above him. The figure held out a hand to help him up, and he recognized it as Dale.

"If you're ready to go in now, General, we'd like to go ahead and initiate the protocol for sealing the doors. We don't have much time left."

Blinking, Clark massaged his sore shoulder and moved to follow. Just before he crossed the threshold, he turned and gazed at the silhouette of those oppressive towers in the distance.

It was then that he got it. The salutes, the respect… the set up. Lois had it planned from the moment she realized he was there to stay.

Strategic genius.

As much as he had hated the life Lois had come to live—one where everyone she loved had died—he hadn't wanted to trade places with her. And now he had. Just as he'd wished—but not *how* he'd wished—her war had become his own.

He found himself wishing that he'd never fallen asleep that morning. That he could get back just one more moment with her... He'd even take a glare from her right now. Anything would be better than the void he was experiencing just from not knowing where she was… how she was.

Was she alive? Was she hurt?

She had given him so much. His life, his future, and his new reign… but all at such great costs. She had left him much, yet he felt that he had so little without her. And what made it so bad was that he had *just* realized how much being with her meant. Just how much she was *everything* he'd never realized that he wanted. That he needed.

Oliver was right. He was blind to the things that were right in front of his face.

He'd escaped the pain of his own time and was now stranded in a place where the cuts ran deeper. She had empowered him to save the world, and yet standing there under a red sky and under the threat of a green death, he was powerless to save the person that *his* world revolved around.

He *hated* that damn sky… but he feared turning around and closing the door on it because that would also be him saying good-bye.

"Mister… Mister General Sir?"

The little voice and a tugging on his pant leg pulled his attention to the small child who had snuck out to stand next to him. Crouching down for a better look, Clark recognized the little boy as the older of the two he had first encountered at the farm.

"Here," the little boy said, holding out a small fist. "I'm really sorry my little brother took your ring. He said it reminded him of Mommy."

Clark watched in amazed wonder as the little fist uncurled to reveal the Legion Ring sitting in the palm of the boys' hand.

Just as he reached out to take it from him, the ground shook, and in the distance, the two Towers of Rao imploded in a shower of glass, fire, and dust.

*~\s/~*

_tbc..._


	7. SEVEN, EPILOGUE

[PART SEVEN]

*~\s/~*

For every major life situation, there is a proverbial fork in the road. It is what the Faustians refer to as the Devil's Crossroads. The Point of Decision. And sometimes, The Point of No Return.

Clark Kent, however, lived in a context where the normal rules did not apply. Often, situations that should have been his Points of No Return offered him an out.

As he watched the smoke billow from the damaged towers in the far distance and the sky begin to lose its blush, he felt his 'out' weigh heavily in the palm of his hand. The answer was simple: all he had to do was slip that ring onto his finger and he would go back. He could fix all of this by preventing it from happening.

The questions were not as simple as the answer, though. He had used the ring once already as an escape, and here it was again, promising the same thing. He had bowed to that promise before, and it had almost *been* an actual Point of No Return. When the ring had been lost, his options were slim.

With no ring, he would have been resigned to take the mantle Lois had laid out for him. He would have had no choice but to retreat into another metal chamber that would preserve and then deliver him unto a world in need of a savior.

Lois had said that running from Destiny only made it appear right in front of you, and she was right. 'Where ever you go, there you are.'

But there was a ring now. And with it came options. He could escape this future and no one would be the wiser. In fact, his escape would prove their salvation. He was sure of it.

So the answer was simple. He would put the ring on. He would leave these people to the nightmare that was their reality, and he would return to his own and carve out a dream.

Resolutely, Clark looked down at the small boy standing beside him. He, too, was staring out at the destruction in the distance.

"Sir!"

Clark turned to see Dale beckoning him to come inside. Pocketing the ring, Clark swooped the little boy into his arms and stepped across the threshold.

He handed the boy to Dale and then stepped back outside.

"Sir? We need you inside... to seal the doors..."

"Ten minutes," Clark replied. "In ten minutes, you seal these doors and don't come out until they come in and get you."

Dale frowned and shook his head. "Sir, I'm afraid..."

"General Lane left orders for me to assume command, is that right?" At first, the implications of everyone saluting him and addressing him as their leader had been overwhelming for him, but then he had understood Lois's strategy. Now, he was intent on creating one of his own.

"That is correct, but..."

"No buts, Dale. Ten minutes." With a stern nod, Clark took another step away from the doors. Yes, he would go home, but there was something he had to do first.

*~\s/~*

When he first started running, the sky had not yet cleared enough to let the yellow life-line come through, but as he gained distance, the clouds cleared and his speed increased. By time thirty seconds had passed, he had overtaken the car Oliver was speeding away in and pulled it to a stop. Twenty seconds after that, the car's tires had been blown, and he had Oliver standing in front of a dazed man and little boy at the entrance to the Ark.

"Stay, Clark," Oliver pleaded with a hand gripping his arm. "There's not enough time left for you to save her."

Clark knew that there were only minutes-maybe, seconds-left before the bombs would begin to fall; when the sky would mock Christmas and turn it a sickening hue of green. He didn't have time to explain to his friend that he had the ring back.

He didn't have time to explain that he knew that he didn't really *need* to save her in this blood-tinted future where his currently reclaimed powers would soon be worthless.

He didn't have time to try to explain why-to Oliver or to himself-he just *had* to try.

Gently pulling free of his friend's grip, Clark spared only a moment to say what would have to serve as both good-bye and good luck. "Command is yours now."

Finally, powerful enough to reach full speed, he wasted no more time before dashing head first into the war zone...

...and skidded to a stop in the middle of the once-was Metropolis where Lois and Zod were embroiled in a terrifying death dance. As his speed descended, and the rest of the world sped up to meet his velocity, he saw Lois's eyes shift to acknowledge his arrival, and her read there her surprise and her dismay.

It was that slightly misplaced second that drew her attention away from her attacker and allowed Zod-however normal-strengthened he was-to bury to the hilt, an ugly-looking knife into her gut.

The sky may have no longer carried the color, but red was all Clark saw as he rushed to the spot where the two stood macabredly connected. When his vision cleared, Zod had been knocked backwards and Lois was cradled in his arms.

"It was you all the time."

Clark turned to see Zod smiling at him with blood staining his teeth and mouth-and a jagged metal pipe jutting from his chest.

Even in the pallor of death, the man seemed to never lose his hold on evil. He tried to laugh and instead coughed violently, dribbling blood down his chin. "Too bad about your timing," Zod offered, attempting to lift his hands but then giving up. "Now we all die." The knife that he'd somehow held onto when he'd been knocked away clattered to the ground as his fingers lost their ability to grip.

A whistling sound alerted Clark's attention to the sky and watched fascinated as a missile exploded like a celebratory firework, throwing green dust into the air and promising death. When he lowered his eyes, he noticed for the first time the army of black-clad Kandorians surrounding them. They also looked to the sky and then back to their dying leader before silently backing into the shadows.

Clark lowered himself to the ground, gently adjusting Lois onto his lap, taking off his jacket and bunching it between their bodies at her side. His hand pressed tightly against the wound that trickled a steady flow of blood, even as he began to feel the tightness in his neck that indicated poison entering his lungs. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, looking down into surprisingly clear hazel eyes.

"You're not supposed to be here," Lois said back, swallowing around the words as she fought obvious pain. Her hand moved to lie across his. "You don't take orders very well."

Fighting tears and ignoring the fire-laced tendrils that were starting to attack his veins, he leaned closer. "I had to come."

Lois's eyes were beginning to glaze and he watched as a sole tear tracked a path down her cheek after being dislodged by a blink. When he wiped it away, his fingers left a smudge of blood in its place. If he had ever felt powerless before, that could not compare with what he was feeling then. His own abilities had once again been stripped and there was no way to save her-yet, there was no way he could let her go.

"Y-you're not ss-supposed to be here," she said again, and Clark hoped she was just reiterating and not succumbing to delirium.

He fished the ring out of his pocket with his free hand and held it up for her to see. "It's okay," he promised. "It's going to be okay."

Her hand lifted from his to take the ring and she smiled weakly as she inspected it. Watching her then, he decided that he would take her with him. Forget that he didn't know if it would work that way, or even if it could take two people together-all he knew is that he would never be without her again. He would ensure that she would go. Even if he didn't.

"Lois, I..." "S-smallville, you.."

They spoke at once, both voices urgent, but hers so much softer... weaker... that he paused first.

She coughed, and he pressed tighter against the blood-flow, grimacing when the motion elicited a pain-laced moan. She grabbed at his hand with her other one, but he didn't give in-intent on keeping her alive, even as he died.

Lois opened her eyes again, clearing slightly out of pain and purpose. Another ominous whistle pierced the sky and Clark knew it was time. "You need... t'know," she ground out, her fingers wrapping around his, "th-that I..." Coughing again, she lost some of her strength.

"Lois..."

But she shook her head, and fought to continue. "I l-loved you then..." She closed her eyes, spent, and Clark feared the worst. But she had more to say, albeit weakly. "...D-died when you... l-left."

Once again Clark felt the pressure of time and the lack of it. He wanted to ask her what she meant about 'then', and yet at the same time, he wanted to beg her to hold on a little while longer. He wished they had more time.

Mostly though, he needed to tell her too.

Her eyes were closed and the sky was about to start burning, but he would stand there until the Earth at his feet opened up so he could say this...

"I lah..." he began...

...only to be interrupted by the blast of a shockwave of heat and light.

*~\s/~*

[EPILOGUE]

*~\s/~*

When the light faded, Clark was surprised that he could breathe easily in the wake of the nuclear detonation. The world's sights and sounds all came snapping back in the same instant, and he found himself looking directly into the grill of an oncoming bus.

In the same amount of time it took for him to realize that he was sitting in the middle of the street of a blue-skyed Metropolis, Clark had escaped the opportunity to leave a man-sized dent in the front of the bus, and was standing on the sidewalk in a dazed stupor.

Blinking, he saw that he was standing directly in front of the Daily Planet, and lifting his hand, he saw the Legion Ring securely in place around his finger. He remembered Lois grasping at the hand that he had pressed against her wound and suddenly realized what she had been doing all along.

She had slipped the ring on his finger so he could be sent home. He smiled sadly at his thoughts, acknowledging with a grim emptiness that she's go so far as to die in order to have the last word.

He guessed that the few milliseconds that he'd spent in the nuclear fallout had cleaned his hands of excess organic matter because they were surprising clear of her blood.

His head suddenly lifted. He was back in his time. Which meant he had work to do. Which meant he had an invasion to prevent.

Which meant that *she* wasn't dead.

At a speed he would never be able to explain to bystanders, Clark disappeared through the doors of his place of employment, stopping at the bottom of the stairs; arrested by the sight before him as though only now believing what he had known-hoped-he would see.

Lois Lane. Unscarred and unscathed. Hair held together by that infernal pencil that she would undoubtedly be looking for when it came time to write something down.

No holster. No gun. No blood.

She was sitting at her desk, swiveling mindlessly in her chair while she gazed unseeingly at the empty desk in front of hers.

Holding his breath, afraid to start a ripple that would prove this vision an oasis, Clark stepped forward, crossing the treshhold from hallway to main room as if he were stepping from a dream into reality.

When Lois looked up, he couldn't read the myriad of emotions that crossed her face, but it didn't seem to matter once she had launched herself into his arms.

"My God!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him so tightly that Clark-superpowered as he was-felt a bit constricted. He didn't make a move for her to stop, though, because her hold on him coincided with his hold on sanity. "Where have you been?"

Her voice was full of wonder and relief and exasperation, but even his lack of answers didn't stop her from talking. "It's been three weeks!" She pulled back enough to look at him. "Chloe and Ollie were sure you were gone for good, but I knew you wouldn't just take off..." She paused again, searching his eyes. "Why weren't you at the funeral?"

She finally released her boa-grip on his neck and stepped back, patting his chest and arms with her hands. "Are you hurt?" Her hands worried a small place on his shirt where some blood had stained.

"It's not mine." Clark grabbed her hands, stilling her movements and pulling her back to his chest. There would be time for the questions, and time for the answers. There would even be time for dealing with alien forces and preventing heinous losses... but right in that moment, Clark refused to let any more time pass—future or present—before he said what he needed to say.

"Lois. I love you too."

And, finally having achieved getting the last word in a conversation with Lois Lane—mostly because his declaration had left her speechless—Clark decided to seal his victory with a kiss.

*This*, he decided, as he allowed the realness of 'now' to soothe the pain and warning of the 'future', was the only way he needed to ever try to escape.

Apparently, Lois must have agreed, because she sighed into his mouth and snuggled deeper into his embrace.

Once they saved it, they would have all the time in the world.

*~\s/~*

_Fin_.

Hope you enjoyed the ride!


End file.
